


Dormant

by Salmon_I



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's the end of the world, Pretty Much Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_I/pseuds/Salmon_I
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a natural disaster nearly destroys the world, China is slowly left alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dormant

Looking back, the most frustrating thing was the simple fact that nothing could really have been done differently. Usually there was an almost perverse pleasure in the fact that one could pinpoint where things went wrong. What could have been done to change the final outcome. But as China peered out at the ash burying what had at one time been one of his most bustling cities, he had no such thoughts to entertain. Only memories, and the ash-filled air in his lungs.

There'd been earthquakes at first, and a few scientists had spoken about the worst possibilities. It was natural to not think about the worst, though. Not until the alarms were going off, and the ground was sinking...and really, at the earthquakes it had already been too late. Because you couldn't stop it, not like a bomb or an asteroid. Magma ate away crops and buildings and people, and the ash darkened the sky; coating everything in layer upon layer of gray. There wasn't enough boats, or enough time, and since it had first been invented America had always preferred planes to boats anyhow, but almost nothing could fly in that.

He remembered when he'd last seen the young nation, at a hospital in England. Pale and sickly, and coughing from the ash all over his lands, even if the air inside the hospital was being kept clear. His head had actually been in England's lap, and the older country was running a soothing hand through his blond locks. "I'm going to die in debt to you." He'd given a wane smile that was a poor imitation of his usual grin. "That's totally not heroic."

"I think we're all past debts now, aru." He'd replied, taking the younger nation's hand.

"Yah...we're past everything now I guess." And that spark of maturity that had occasionally shone through despite his antics was there in his eyes. And China had thought it was a shame that he would never bear witness to the mature nation he could have become.

England had met his eyes, and China had thought it wasn't fair that the younger nations were dying first. That they would be forced to say goodbye to their children before their own end came. In the room next door, Canada was slowly freezing away. He'd last months more than his brother, but the prolonged winter would eventually take from him the last of his people the eruption hadn't. England had written him to say France had died the same day. He'd never been certain if the older nation had died naturally with his people, or if he'd taken his own life.

China couldn't die even if he wanted to, and he had scars to prove he'd done more than think about it.

Russia had visited him, lips tinged with blue. The winter had lasted over a year at that point - the ash blocking sunlight and warmth. The rain still an unhealthy black color as it rained poison from the sky.

"I never thought I'd lose to him in the end." He'd smiled calmly as ever, but there was something melancholic about it now. It no longer covered anger or bitterness. There was none left. Only resignation. "General Winter and I have argued a long time, da? He said once I would never lose to any but him, but I always said I'd lose to anyone but him. You would think he'd be happy about his victory, but he avoids me now."

He'd taken his hands in his, tried to instill some warmth into the cold fingers. "The space station sent down some rice, aru. Would you like some, aru?"

"There is no one left to eat for." Russia had told him gently. He'd hugged him before he'd left. It was the last time he'd see him.

He'd gone to Japan. The nation's people had worked non stop on new inventions - trying to find someway to save who was left. But most of the vegetation on the planet was gone - and the space stations couldn't keep up with the demands. People were dying of starvation by the thousands. Japan himself was gaunt; cheekbones too defined - feeling the hunger of his people. His eyes were too bright - fever setting in. They'd sat in a room full of computers and metal and nothing the least bit organic. And they'd talked about rice farms, and sushi restaurants, and imperial banquets from days gone by. Cherry blossom festivals, and the Spring Festival, and magpie bridges in July and August.

"I used to think they were unlucky to meet once a year." Japan told him quietly. "But I'd give anything for once a year now."

And to that he had nothing to say. But when he'd woken up from sleeping on the small bunk in the workroom, the chair was empty - and on the computer screen was a screen saver full of pictures of days gone by. As picture after picture of lost friends played, China found no tears to cry. Only an aching emptiness inside. A longing for what could never be.

Sealand came when England died. How the stubborn island had outlived some of the others, he wasn't positive. The artificial nation had wept on his shoulder, and fallen asleep in a bed that had once housed emperors. The next morning he explained that he wanted to go to the space stations. He'd asked him to come with him, and it had been tempting. Tempting to have companionship after months of wandering his empty lands. But they were still his lands. They weren't cold metal in colder emptiness. And in the end he'd sent him alone. Sealand had only looked at him in confusion as he boarded Shenzhou 21, and China had only gave him a sad smile. Because that cold metal was Sealand's legacy from the start, and there was noway to explain it to him. Explain the feeling of being connected to a land that was alive, and thrummed with an energy so different from electrical currents or nuclear fission.

And his lands were alive. Dormant, but alive. And there were still humans alive, struggling in the wasteland that had once been teeming with life. And even if they weren't his, he felt responsible for them. Because there was 194 shrines that he placed bits of rice and soybean at each month. And the names of friends and family now gone etched in languages that would soon be forgotten by history. And they may be his people, someday. When the world and they recovered enough to travel again. And renew an age old cycle that even he was too young to remember the start of. And when, in the Spring, rain fell clear from the skies instead of black, China stood in the falling water, and was not completely surprised when the tears finally came.

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off a prompt that I hope I did justice. If nobody understands what happened to the world, just look up the Yellowstone Super Volcano. I really didn't intend any pairings, even if a few times it kinda looks like it.


End file.
